Armor
by ailaxolotl
Summary: Evangeline Rose has hidden her secret for years. But when Harry Potter enters her life, will he become her knight in shining armor? Rated T for language and abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! I've had this idea in my head for ages and I finally had to put it down on paper-or well, er, the internet. As far as my other story FOTP, I really do want to keep working on it, scout's honor. I just have severe procrastination problems. . Anyways, read on! Hope you like it! **

**And as a side note, just so you're not confused because this is an AU story, Voldemort is DEAD dead in this fanfic. I like to imagine what would have happened if Slughorn never gave Tom that crucial information about the horcruxes, thus preventing Voldy from making any of 'em. So when he went to kill Harry and Lily protected him, he died for good. Hence the AU. :)**

**Disclaimer: I am not, have never been, and won't ever be J.K. Rowling. As such, anything that looks like it belongs to her probably does.**

As I walk the halls of my home away from home, my hand twitches towards my face like a reflex before I can stop myself and continue looking down at nothing, attracting no attention.

_"No, dad, you can't! I'm going, and you can't stop me!"_

_ "Shut up, Evangeline! God dammit, just SHUT UP!"_

_ "…You're drunk, aren't you?"_

_ "What does it matter? Stop being such a bitch and go to your room!"_

_ "Let go of me! Stop-PLEASE-no! I'll come back, I'll come back, just p-please, let me go!"_

_ "No one else's home. What are you gonna do, huh? Whip out your wand and turn me into a toad? You can't scare me with that anymore; I know you're not allowed to do _it_ outside that damn school of yours!"_

_ "Dad, please! No-NO-AHHHHH!"_

I swing my hair in front of my face again, hoping the massive extent of it will hide my massive bruise already covered in layers upon layers of makeup. I'm sure there's a spell out there to lessen injuries, but I don't have the time to look and I've covered these up the muggle way so many times it's like second nature to me. As I scurry through the dense crowds to get back to my dormitory, I see Harry Potter and his friends up ahead of me, laughing and talking about who knows what in their perfect happy little lives. Well, I suppose not perfect. Ron will probably always be poor and Hermione will one day fail a test she mindlessly blathered about to the common room for hours and Harry-well, Harry will lose his fantastic looks one day. Maybe. But that's beside the point. As they're walking out of my line of vision my bruise suddenly throbs horribly, sending such a jolt of pain through my body I careen to the floor, my bag exploding in front of me, splattering ink and parchment all across the worn stone.

Jeers and laughs echo across the corridor as I scramble to my knees, trying to grab all of my belongings as quickly as possible to lose the attention in case of the slim to none chance someone glances a little too closely at my left check. "Hey," I hear a voice from above me. "do you want some help?" It's _him_. Of course it is, knowing my luck. Immediately I can feel my cheeks flush with the simple nearness of him as he kneels down and mutters _reparo_ to my destroyed ink bottle. "Thanks, ah, well…" Just as I'm forming an escape, he interjects.

"Hey, have I met you before? I'm Harry." He leaves out his last name. Whether it's because he knows I know it or he actually doesn't want the attention that comes with his face and lightning scar I can't be sure.

"Evang-Eve. Just…just Eve," I mutter, hastily shoving my books back in my bag before looking up to take my ink bottle back from Harry. His vibrant eyes flicker from place to place, but mostly stay fixated on one spot just below my left eye. My heart picks up its pace a bit with adrenaline and fear. Can he see? Harry's eyes envelop me with their warmth, pull me in and almost convince me of safety before I shake my head and not-so-subtly toss my hair back into its usual position-covering as much of my face as possible.

"Okay, well maybe I'll talk to you later…Eve," he says, eyeing my rumpled Gryffindor tie.

"Maybe," I noncommittally murmur before grabbing the rest of my belongings and running down the corridor towards a rarely frequented bathroom. It's not Moaning Myrtle's; God forbid I would ever have to put myself through that kind of torture. I dash over to one of the shining porcelain sinks and stare at my reflection, desperate to find the crack in my armor. The same ugly face as always greets me with panic and adrenaline thrown across its face. Uncontrollable wavy chestnut locks framing a tanned, freckled face and eyes such a pale blue they look like ice. I spend a few seconds of fruitless searching until like a light was just switched on, there it is. Just below my left eye, exactly where Harry seemed to be staring.

A tiny dent in the makeup, barely there but existent enough for anyone looking really closely to see it. A patch of sickly purple-black.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ello! So yeah, I plan on having these chapters be really short, that way a) I can update a whole lot more often, b) you don't have to spend fifteen minutes on one chapter, and c) I'm not overwhelmed by the idea of typing up a new chapter. Reviews please~!**

**Disclaimer: See chapter one. Sadly, I am not awesome enough to own Harry Potter or any bit of his world.**

I suppose at one point I realized walking around with my injuries completely exposed was a bad idea. People would fret and ask if I needed help, or get the wrong idea and start to avoid me. Hiding the scars-that's the easy part. Most of them are faint or in places I'm not showing off to public. It's the bruises that get me every time. I don't bruise easily but with the force my father puts into it I'll have a sickening patch of the rainbow on my skin within hours. Sights like those cause panic. Chaos. Attention. The very last things I need.

I come to Hogwarts not just to learn magic. I come to escape, simple as that. Escape from my father who doesn't understand magic but still despises. My father who drowns himself in alcohol and who brings a different woman to bed with him every night. Sometimes he even tries claiming me, but he's often so drunk I can shove him off without using magic. I've almost been expelled more times than I'd like to think about, but Headmaster Dumbledore always manages to save me. Of course, he doesn't even know why I use magic out of school. I've never told anyone, but something about Dumbledore tells me he knows, or at the very least has a hunch. I can't tell anyone what's happening. It would just confirm what I already know: I'm too weak to defend myself. Against a muggle, of all things. And I'm not ready to tell the world of my weaknesses.

As I approach the Fat Lady I realize I don't know the password and seeing as how long I was in the bathroom frantically re-painting my face it's not likely anyone's coming in or going out anytime soon. I use my best puppy-dog look on the Fat Lady, who in return simply rolls her eyes and starts what I can only assume is sing. _Effing ridiculous,_ I think to myself as I find a cold spot on the floor and wait for some traffic to come my way. _Been here a bloody six years and she still won't let me in._

The Fat Lady's wails soon begin to drill in my ears and just as they start ringing I decide maybe I need to go find a professor or start threatening the beast that was as good as poking needles into my head. Choosing my second option as the quickest and most efficient, I stand up and beat my fist against the painting viciously, practically screaming for someone to open the entrance so I could be heard over the painting's outraged protests. Finally a door forms and swings open and I'm faced with a few petrified-looking second years, and I merely scowl at them until they shuffle out of my way so I can enter the common room. It's been a long day and I need some rest, time for reality to sink in: I'm finally here, I'm safe, I'm well fed and kept and admittedly invisible but I couldn't care less.

As I walk to the girl's rooms, no one looks my way. There's no one saying hello to me, nobody asking me _howwasyoursummerdon'tyouknowthepasswordI'vemissedyousomuch_. Better this than the opposite, though-friends and trust and transparency like Potter had. The poor boy has probably never had a moment alone his whole life. Killing Voldemort as a baby at this point almost seems like a hindrance, not a help. He will never be known for who he is, but instead for what he did when he was too young to even know what was happening. Just as my hand is on the railing of the stairway and I can imagine my luxurious four-poster bed, I hear the voice of the devil call out, strangely loud in the melancholy volume of evening. My name. Someone has called my name-more importantly, someone _knows_ my name.

"Eve!" Harry says, and I hesitantly turn around to see him and his group of followers sitting next to the fireplace, their eyes so full of life. Of hope. "Hey, Eve…I was wondering if you wanted to sit with us."

I almost audibly gulp as I begin making my way towards them, hands clammy and tense. Eyes, following me from every direction. Lingering on my face, my too thin body, my legs. The patch of skin under my left eye. Panic begins to seep into my veins but I can't stop now because if I do I may just run to my bed and attract even more attention. Slowly, cautiously, I take a just recently empty spot on the floor next to Harry and a lanky, quiet boy-I'm pretty sure his name is Neville. I look at Harry with eyes of a deer in the headlights, and he clears his throat once before introducing me to his friends whose names I already know. "Eve, this is Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville. Guys…this is Eve."

They all give me halfhearted welcomes, making it obvious Harry's actions were completely unmentioned beforehand. The awkwardness is almost tangible and I'm standing up, muttering a feeble excuse about going to sleep when Harry takes my wrist in his hand and ever so slightly tugs me back to the ground. I resist for a moment, but it's obvious he's not letting me go anywhere. I almost whine with frustration but instead plop down onto the floor. It takes me a few seconds to realize that Harry's hand has left my wrist, leaving it cold. I feel strangely lonely in that moment.

"How are you doing?" Harry says as he leans his head in towards mine, all of his friends seemingly preoccupied with a game of wizard's chess Ron had just whipped out. I do my best to focus on Ron placing his pieces in formation as Ginny does the same, more than the slight feel of Harry's breath on my neck. He shouldn't get under my skin like this, especially since this is the first day I've ever said a word to him in my life.

My seventh year is starting out in the best way imaginable.

"I-I'm fine," I manage to choke out, still in a state of bewildered shock that this is _Harry_, that he's talking to _me_.

"So how come I've never seen you around before? It seems like you just came into existence out of nowhere," Harry says and I nearly laugh at this. I've always been here. It's just that no one has bothered to look.

"It's actually quite easy to disappear if you try hard enough. It's second nature to me."

"Pfft. Me, disappearing? I'd love that. Even my cloak doesn't seem to be doing its job lately."

I'm about to ask about the cloak, but then I figure he's probably rich enough to afford a million Invisibility Cloaks, so many he could make the whole of Hogwarts vanish from all eyes, muggles and witches and wizards alike. I could disappear forever; live in solitude and safety, away from my father and his eager fists. Harry's eyes are drowning me; pulling me closer and closer to him until a delighted shriek bursts from Ginny's mouth as her knight destroys Ron's queen. I flinch away from those brilliant green eyes, tearing myself from the floor and bolting to my room, leaving behind me an inattentive common room except for Harry, whose eyes follow me the whole way.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry guys, this chapter's really short. :( I'll make the next one oober long, just for y'all! …..And yes. I say y'all.**

**Disclaimer: I dreamed a dream in time gone by that I was J.K. Rowling, but then I woke up.**

Before I leap into my bed I rummage through my rucksack for a cloth, a sock, anything. "_Aguamenti,_" I whisper towards the strip of fabric and watch as it darkens in color and cools on my palm. I vigorously rub my face with the item-it appears to be a shirt-and sigh in relief as the layers of makeup are removed from my face. It feels like I can finally breathe. I crumple up the shirt and toss it back in my bag. I'll clean it later; now I just want to curl up into a ball and consider my whirlwind of a day. I lay in my four-poster bed, just beginning to relax, when I hear the door slowly creak and squeak open, hesitating for a moment before a quiet voice fills the room. "Eve? Is everything alright?"

_Shoot,_ I think to myself. I bury myself in a pillow. When I respond my voice is muffled and distorted. "Yeah, Hermione, everything's just fine…I'm tired is all. It's been a long day."

"Well, if you need anything, I am the Head Girl…" Hermione trails off awkwardly. It's clear she has no clue what to say to this strange apparition-me. The door is already closing as she says, "You know where to find me."

I nod in assent to my pillow. I don't even know if she saw it. All lies, every last bit. She couldn't care less what's going on in my life. No one does. Not God, not Headmaster Dumbledore. Certainly not my father.

If anyone had cared, they would have stopped him from giving me scars and bruises and a collapsing self-esteem and every bit of hell I've been served my whole life.

_ "Eve! C 'mere! Got someone who wants to see you!"_

_ A pale eyed girl looks up from her drawing towards the hulking figure of a man she knows and fears all too well. Behind him is a stranger, dressed interestingly in a pointy hat and long robes. She raises her eyebrows at him and suppresses a giggle. To do so would put the wrong impression on her father-that he is a lazy man who can't teach his daughter manners. And impressions are everything in this house. _

_ "Hello, there! You must be Evangeline Rose, yes? My name is Albus Dumbledore, but you can call me Professor or Headmaster Dumbledore."_

_ The girl looks at him in dumbfounded shock. She has little to no resemblance to her father and he never mentions her to anyone. Ever. She nods once, then glances over to her father. He has a violent gleam in his eyes. The fringes of his ears are turning red._

_ "Miss Evangeline, have you noticed strange things happening to you or around you? Bizarre events, when you were mad or sad?"_

_ The conversation goes on for quite some time, the girl's eyes growing larger by the minute and her father growing more enraged by the second. The strange man who calls himself Dumbledore seems to take to notice in either, or simply chooses not to acknowledge them. As he is leaving, the girl gets a small rush of pure hope. To get away from her home! It is surely impossible. The moment the door closes, the girl forgets herself and turns to grin at her father, but is met with the monster. He gnashes his teeth and spits out vile words, vile insults. The girl tries to reach out to him, to grab his arm. The monster seems to roar at this action and serves a massive blow to the girl's side. She winces in pain, and begins to cry. The monster calms a bit and looks down at her, emptiness in his eyes. _

_ But her father is no better than the monster, and leaves her on the floor to clutch at her stomach and sob._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: New chappie! Yay! Let me know what you think and what you'd like to see in the future. Also, any good fluff ideas will be taken into serious consideration, most of which I will probably/definitely use. :)**

**Also, I would like to send a HUGE thank you to everyone who added this story as their favorite, or put it on alert, or put **_**me**_** on alert or as a favorite. It means a ton! Special huge supermegafoxyawesomehot 'thank you's to daewood321, ElizaPurdue, Dreamsb223 and SirenxSingerx13 for being the first to review; but especially SirenxSingerx13 for reviewing twice! :D Interwebby hugs for you all!**

**Disclaimer: The epicness that is JKR will never be mine. Le sigh….**

When I wake up in a sweat I have to shove my fist in my mouth to keep myself from screaming. I've done this so often I have little indentations in-between my knuckles. Proof of my past that will never go away. _Just a dream. Just a horrible dream._

Such a shame that that nightmare has become reality.

Hurriedly, I glance around the beds closest to me. Everyone is still asleep. Dreaming peacefully. Or, better yet, not dreaming at all. I slowly crawl out of the tangled mess of blankets my thrashing cause and put on my uniform, paint over my face, wincing as I sweep across my bruise, and go down to the great hall.

A couple of students are eating silently, mourning over the early hour while they shovel food down their throats. Professor Trelawney seems to be counting the number of bread slices laid out in front of her, letting strands of her gnarled hair sweep across a platter of eggs. I pick a seat as close to the doors as I can; as close to a quick escape as possible. The shiny place in front of me seems massive. When full, it could feed three of me for a whole day, if not longer. I place the smallest biscuit I can find on my plate and three grapes swirl around it, waitingwaiting. Do I eat them? I'm not terribly hungry. __ people say. Doctors, professors, complete strangers. Sick as it is, my mentality is this: other people may tell me to eat more, but the person who for seventeen years has put food on my plate, who took me across the Atlantic Ocean when my mom died, who wasted away our money for alcohol, tells me to eat less. So I do. I pop the grapes into my mouth.

one

two

three

They explode with flavor, filling my mouth with a sensation to die for. I hastily swallow them and replace the gaping hole in my mouth with a quarter of the biscuit. I halfheartedly try to convince myself that it's disgusting and bland.

It's a game I've played with myself for years. I never win.

Before I can shovel down a mountain of sausages and an ocean of pumpkin juice, I abruptly stand up, nearly falling to the ground in the process before I run out of the hall, shoving the rest of the biscuit into my mouth.

The air outside is crisp and rejoices in early morning. It's my favorite time of day; just late enough to see but early enough that I have the grounds to myself and the _chirpchirp_ of birds. It's also consistently the only time of day that I can count on father being asleep. I take a seat on the very edge of a rock half lying in the lake, supported by a thick layer of algae. Absentmindedly, I pluck a twig from the ground and run it through the murky lake water, watching as the ripples swell and dissipate, spreading far and wide before vanishing into nothing.

_Nothing nothing nothing. I am nothingnobodynowhere_, screams my head. A sigh crawls from the corners of my lips and tiptoes across the lake, testing its weight before every step. For a long time there is no sound-even the swallows seem to have become mute. But of course, time itself can never be stopped, no matter how hard we try to push against it, expand it. The sky sheds its black overcoat as a trio of fourth years begin to wander close to the lake. I stand up, brush any pebbles off my skirt, and beeline towards the entrance, head down and shoulders hunched.

"_Evangeline, stop shoveling down food; it's disgusting. Pass me the potatoes."_

"_Daddy, I was wondering, about that man that came over a few days ago…"_

"_I don't know what you're talking about. We haven't had any guests in months."_

"_Dad, please! What if what he said is true? Could I really be a witch? Was mom_ _a witch? Are you a wizard?"_

"_That was complete crap, Evangeline. Just a stupid prank, that's all. Now shut your mouth and start the dishes; you've eaten plenty."_

"_But dad-"_

"_Evangeline Rose, don't you dare cross me. Go do the dishes."_

"_Fine. But if that man comes back to take me to that place-Diagon Alley-I'm gonna go."_

"_And what? Just leave your father here alone to die?"_

"_No-I didn't mean it like that!"_

"_Shut up, Evangeline. We're done talking about this."_

"_Dad-!"_

"_I said _shut up_."_

My first class of the day is Arithmancy, served with a pinch of Gryffindors and a large side of Ravenclaws. I've never gotten more than an EE, but something about the simple way each problem solves itself like a knot-you can spend ages picking at it and then suddenly everything is untangling, transforming into a thin piece of string-relaxes me, if only temporarily.

Hermione's in the class, but either she hasn't noticed my constant glances in her direction of she's simply choosing to ignore me. The latter seems more reasonable. Why would she find it necessary to continue on with Harry's recent pity project?

My bruise is pounding, pulsing, but I can't cave in to the pain as I did last night. It's been hurting all morning. No, no, I'm in the middle of class, I have to control myself, be strong. Even so, by the time Professor Vector dismisses us I half-walk-half-run out of the room and into the nearest bathroom. Easing my way through the crowd of girls fixing their hair and makeup, I slam the door to a stall shut and sink down to the floor.

The pain is almost unbearable, but I've had worse. Daddy dearest broke my wrist once by grabbing me and twisting too far. I wanted to just keel over and die. He told the doctors at the hospital that I had climbed onto the roof of a playground in our neighborhood and fallen off in 'just the wrong way'. Shame on you, little Eve. Hope daddy can afford to waste so much money for a cast when he could be enjoying a shot of poison.

Tears streak down my face and I only have a second to wonder if my makeup is falling off before a wave of pain slaps me across the face, shoves me into a wall. I force down a sob. Is a bone broken? _No no no. Nonononononono!_ Broken bone equals the need for help equals asking Madame Pomfrey what to do equals her asking how I got the bruise and or break equals me not doing well under pressure equals a furious father and his unpredictable, savage attack.

Fear is trickling down my spine, ice cold, reaching the core of my being. I'm going to miss Herbology, but at this point I couldn't care less. Hesitantly, praying without the slightest hint of hope, I delicately place a few fingers on my cheek. I can't seem to feel any more or less pain, so I move my fingers around slowly, tracing an intricate pattern along my face until a wail, only slightly muffled by my other hand, flies from my mouth and spatters like blood across the stall.

There is a definite indent in my cheek. Very small, almost undetectable, but still there, just below my eye. The agony tells me everything I already guessed: something is broken, at the very least fractured. Surely there's a spell to mend broken bones; I just have to find it, and fast. But not quite now. Now I am curled up into a ball of pain and wishing for nonexistence.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So yep, I'm aware, there's basically next to no Harry-Eve action going on right now, but I want to write this like an actual story-the main characters don't fall in love right off the bat! :)**

**Many thanks for all of the favorites and follows, and thank you very much to everyone who has reviewed!**

**Disclaimer: If it looks similar to anything Rowling's got out there, it's not mine. **

_The train station is chaos, all noise and _hustlebustlepleasemove._ A girl fresh of seventeen, obviously trying to stay out of sight, quickly slinks out of the train, rucksack in tow. Perhaps, had she had her way, she could have left Platform 9 ¾ completely unnoticed._

_But after all, no world is perfect._

_A large man clamps his calloused hand to her shoulder, leans down, and whispers something meant only for that girl's ear. She seems even more small and invisible in comparison to this man, this giant with beetle black eyes and a shaved head, his ears tinged red. As he hisses into her ear, the girl begins to tremble, her entire frame shaking like a brittle leaf in the autumn wind._

_The man pats her shoulder once, perhaps with a bit too much force than necessary before walking off, leaving the girl with two choices: follow him or walk the other way. She hesitates for just a moment, glancing around the crowded platform, her eyes pleading for help and seeming to scream, 'Why won't you help me?' before walking quickly off after the man. His words reverberated in her ears for weeks, months. _

"_You're not going back."_

I've been in the bathroom stall for hours, surely. At one point when I seemed to be incapable of shedding one more tear, I fell into a fitful sleep. Had no one noticed, the entire day, that I simply managed to disappear? My legs are stiff, my neck sore. Of course, my cheek hurts the worst. Tear stains left cool patches on my flushed, splotchy face, until they dried into salt that cracks and crumbles whenever I blink. I am out of tears. Out of excuses, really. My snuffles echo across the empty bathroom, filling it, pushing against its walls, looking for a way out. I hate crying. It's weak, it's pathetic, and it's an admittance of defeat. And yet here I am, after just bawling my eyes out, pitying myself.

The creak of a door invades my musings. I automatically tense, suddenly quite aware that my makeup is long gone. The footsteps are light, almost as if the person to whom they belong is cheating gravity. "Hello?" calls a delicate voice, a butterfly whispering in flight. "I heard crying, and I thought it was Moaning Myrtle, but your cries sound different. Please come out. I won't be rude."

I make not a sound, move not an inch. She'll leave. Whoever she is, she'll leave. I refuse to walk out of this stall with red eyes, puffy nose, and a very naked bruise. I may be weak, but I'm stubborn as hell when I need to be.

Evidently this stranger is as well. Footsteps _patterpatter_ right in front of my stall and stay there, waiting for permission that I will not grant. This is the line that none cross, the point between ask and do. It is a line long unbroken and highly respected. I built it for years, fortified it, protected and nurtured it, to keep myself safe, if from no one else, myself. I am the least trustworthy component of this line, this life. Too wildly unpredictable, too emotional. So I locked away most of anything that could lead to feelings and hurt and hope. Those locks, evidently, are worn down and marred with rust. I can feel all of the weakness pounding, pulsing in my ribcage, scouring every crevice for a way out. It makes me sick. I want to carve into my chest and throw it all out, remove any remnant of this insecurity.

The angel voice calls out again, fragile as a dandelion seed and just as silent. "You know, if you don't come out, I'll just have to crawl under the door. I don't think it would be very comfortable." No menace. Irritation. Simply words from an airy mouth.

I stick my hand into my robe pockets until I find my wand, pulling it out and grasping it so tightly I begin to lose feeling in my hand. If she sees me, I'm not going to let her remember it. A few strands of pale hair peek under the door, soon followed by a head, torso, legs. My wand falls to the floor. I cannot hurt this girl, this child with scraggly hair and eyes the silver of moonlight. She reminds me too much of myself, on the inside. Small. Weak. Fragile. Her doe eyes focus on mine with a surprising wisdom before they flicker down to my wand, which is rolling in small, helpless half-circles around the stained tile. She grabs it, wipes it as if it was dirtied in its few seconds on the ground, then gives it back to me, closing my limp fingers around the piece of wood for me as I stare at her in dumb shock. How does the most subtle of breezes not send her drifting away into the heavens? I'm wafer thin because of my father, but tall, at the very least giving me a willowy frame. But she is delicate as a fresh born baby, soft and pale. I cannot imagine a more perfect voice for this stranger.

"Oh, my. I think you'll have to see Madame Pomfrey." Horrified, I shake my head vigorously before stopping and doing my best to hold in the wail of pain making my fingers curl. "Yep, you'll definitely have to see her. Come on, then." She extends a soft hand which I reluctantly take, pulls me out of my crouch and unlocks the stall file.

Every muscle seems to protest at the sudden stretch of standing. My bones crack and reset. I've been curled up in a ball a lot longer than I had originally thought. "What's your name?" the girl asks, and I flinch, not entirely willing to breach the intimacy of name-sharing. "I'm Luna," she says, as if to calm me the way one would a pet. And I suppose, at this point, I am an animal. Rabid, hungry, scared, hollow.

With her childlike innocence, though, it works, and I croak out my name. Evangeline. I don't often tell people my name, and when I do, I say Eve. But not for this girl; she gets the whole mouthful. Strangely enough, she smiles when most people lose the courtesy to not make a face at my uncommon name. "That's pretty. Can you walk?"

Of course I can walk. It's my face that's hurt, not my legs. But I'd rather not think of my face as Luna gently takes my elbow and leads me out of the bathroom. "What-" I croak, a curiosity bubbling in the throat at the sight of this little angel guiding me nowhere I want to be. "What house are you in?"

"Oh, I'm in Ravenclaw. Sixth year." Huh. I placed her in third, fourth year at most. She doesn't hand me the same question, either out of respect for my privacy or a lack of interest. With this girl, though, I feel as if it is the former. There is a simple sincerity about her that invites me in towards trust and other very, very scary feelings. "Listen, you don't have to take me to the Hospital Wing, I can get there on my own…" Do I feel guilty for lying? No. Do I feel the thrum of panic in my chest with every step? Yes.

"It's not a problem. Look at you; you probably couldn't have gotten out of there on your own if you tried, not with something like that in your way." The silent, invisible question snakes its tendrils around my head, crawling under my eyelids, trying to see what I have seen and where I have been to get Oh So Nasty a Bruise. The Hospital Wing is getting close; I can just see it down this corridor if I squint enough.

_Can't go. Can't go. Distract her. Do anything; just don't you dare set one toe in that place. You are strong; this is weak. You are brave; this is cowardice. _But I cannot find it in me to wrench my arm from her grasp.

We walk most of the distance in silence. As the doors come into sight I can feel my heart double its pace and am struck by the utter ridiculousness of the situation-I'm being dragged around by a girl who's half of _my_ size. I finally pluck up the nerve to tug my arm out of Luna's grasp, but just as I do so, the infirmary doors fly open and there's Madame Pomfrey in a tizzy, asking so many questions I'm not willing to answer. _'_-"Darling, how _did_ you manage to get such a terrible thing on your face?"

I can feel sweat dewing in my palms. "I, uh-" but then a voice interrupts me. The angel is my savior yet again.

"Evangeline fell a few days ago and tried to brush it off, but as you can see, it's not quite…brush off-able."

Pomfrey scrutinizes me for a moment before sighing ("All _right_ then, I'll pretend to believe you") and pulling me into the infirmary. She makes me drink something foul and places a nonverbal spell on my cheek and within seconds the dagger has been pulled from my face and the wound sealed. "Whatever you hit did an impressive job. I can get rid of that bruise, if you'd like," she says. I practically beam as I nod my head.

I leave despite her insistence that I spend the night with no evidence and a clean slate and such a feeling of lightness I'm sure I float down the hallways. It takes a few minutes of relief-induced blindness for me to realize Luna is still at my side, eyes examining the myriad of paintings scattered across the walls. She waves to some and most wave back, seeming to recognize her. They are not polite enough to keep their eyes from lingering on me as we pass by. _Ignore it,_ I think to myself. _It's gone and all they see is a tired girl. It's gone. You're free._

All too soon I'm at the portrait of the Fat Lady, currently asleep, scrubbing my face with the sleeve of my robe. Bruise or not, I hate makeup and my tears completely ruined it. "D'you know the password?" asks Luna. I shake my head. "I think it's 'sexist pig'. She had a rather large infatuation with a businessman down by the dungeons, but it didn't end well." I chuckle. "So…I'll see you around?"

I smile at her. I have nothing on my face to hide and as long as I'm careful, no reason to not see her again. "Sure," I say. She smiles and the world brightens a bit. I watch her walk away, a smile hinting on my lips before I turn around to wake a very moody Fat Lady.


End file.
